Taren
by A Solitary Birch Tree
Summary: When Taren Potter is sent to live in a London orphanage, she thought her life would only get worse. But when everyone's favorite Headmaster comes to visit, there seems to be hope...and family? Harry wasn't the only one to live. Romance MUCH later.
1. 1: An Ominous Beginning

**Taren**

by A Solitary Burch Tree

A/N: So, um, ya...it kinda starts slow and the first chapter is a heck of a lot longer than all the others but I have to set the mood, ya know?

Chapter One: An Ominous Beginning

A single girl walked across the flagstones of a deserted courtyard. Leaves skittered and twirled their ways around her feet, creating wind tunnels. The air was cold and blustery, twisting her shoulder length red hair around her face and neck. The sky above was the same color as her eyes – dark, steely grey. Cold benches surrounded her, hard and uninviting. A leaf-covered pathway, shown glumly from under stone archways, gothic decoration twined around the supports like snakes. Gargoyles stared at the girl with unseeing eyes from their perches on the towers above. There was an eerie, muted silence over the place; not even the wind made a noise.

A lone figure stepped from behind one of the many archways, cloaked in all black, its face hidden in shadows. The figure slowly glided toward her, its arm purposefully rising to point a slender stick ominously at her. As the girls eyes stared at the tip of it, a quiver of fear twitched down her spine – there was power behind that twig; tremendous power.

She felt mild recognition, but it was quickly wiped away as her body was paralyzed by fear of the unknown; she watched, helplessly, as this thing, glided closer, closer, until only inches and a layer of cloth separated her heart and the subtle weapon. All she could do was stare at it, defenseless and resigned to her fate.

The rod stayed above her heart, but the things body slowly drew closer, until the face was mere inches from her own, its slow, deadly breath blew across her face, sour and vengeful. Its face was still shrouded in shadow. The beings other hand slowly rose, unseen by the terrified girl, held in her place by a strange force she couldn't comprehend. The hand crept closer and closer to her face, and slowly drew a long, thin, decrepit finger across her cheekbone, sending chills down her spin and pain shooting in every direction from the fingers path.

Her trance was broken and she cried out in pain, the sound echoing around the courtyard, rustling the leaves with its unnatural noise. She stumbled back clenching her cheek where the finger had touched. Landing awkwardly on a bench, she gazed at the thing in fear, breathing hard, residual pain still scorching through her body. It simply laughed, a harsh, maniacal laugh that reverberated from all sides, surrounding the pair in the sordid sound of its twisted glee, the stick still pointing steadily at the girls hunched form, hand still raised to where it had caressed her face. The sound sunk into the girl's body as sudden and excruciating pain yet again shot through her entire being. Her mind was incapable of coherent though, only able to let out a piercing, agonizing scream as she crumpled to the cold, hard stone, clenching her cheekbone.

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Thousands of miles away, Taren Potter let out the same blood chilling scream in a dormitory of Saint Josephine the Merciful's Orphanage in Seattle. She thrashed in the bottom bunk of her rickety bed, tangled in the thin sheets. Still not awake, she fought off the girls who surrounded her bed, desperately trying to control her flailing limbs and piercing screams before the Head Sister came to investigate. Tears of pain fell from her eyes, as a thin scar continued to sear into her cheek, and her nails dug into the already marked skin surrounding it. The entire dorm was now awake, fear instilled in their minds because of the mysterious thing that caused Taren to repeat this scenario far too often.

Finally, one of the girls slapped Taren across the temple; the force causing her to lurch up, still screaming, and fighting the hands that held her, but eyes now wide open, pupils dilated in terror and pain. The girls descended on her with strangely organized and rehearsed agility, pinning her limbs to the bed, way from her face, forcing her to calm.

Taren continued to breathe heavily, her chest heaving, eyes darting around for the unseen enemy who had seemed so real only moments before. The other girls of her dorm continued to crowd around her, bracing her to the bed, whispering mollifying words to her.

It was late in the night. A waxing moon shone brightly through the tall window across form her bed, shedding a patient and calming light across her frame and the large huddle of girls surrounding her. The room was large, housing thirty girls ranging from five to seventeen years, all clad in white dressing gowns and in various states of wakefulness. They crouched on the floor and hung from the bunks above and surrounding Taren's. The same look of worry and fear covered all their faces.

After many seconds, Taren's breathing calmed down and the girls cautiously let her go. "What happened?" one girl whispered. She was about fifteen years old, willowy and dark. Her black hair was carefully plaited down her back, her deep brown eyes filled with worry and fear of hearing Taren's answer.

Taren slowly pushed her self up on shaky arms. Her night gown, identical to the ones around her, was clinging to her tall, sturdy body, drenched in sweat. Her red hair was matted and unruly, tangled and insanely frizzy.

"I – I just–" Taren's voice cracked and she coughed. Someone handed her a glass of water, which she sipped slowly, letting it sooth her throat. She looked closely at the faces surrounding her, seeing how young many of them were. "It was just a dream guys, it – it was nothing. Just go back to bed." She gave a weak smile, and gently pushed the closest girl – a shy, but friendly nine year old named Sasha - in the direction of her own bunk. Her stormy gray eyes turned confident and sure, masking her real feelings from the small girls she felt a desire to protect.

But Samantha, the girl who had originally asked, wasn't swayed. She stayed by Taren's bed until everyone else was gone. "Bullshit Taren. This is the third time this week you've woke up the entire floor, screaming. What is going on?" she whispered forcefully.

Taren sighed. "Nothing Sam, it was a bad dream, we all have them. Go back to bed."

Sam lifted one elegant brow. "Oh really?" She sighed, exasperated. "Taren, why do you do this? Why do you never tell anyone?" she voice slowly pick up volume as her rant went on. "You've had these things for as long as I can remember, and we all know something's up. I know this is eating you up inside. I'm not blind, none of us are."

Taren glared up at her. "If you're going to berate me, Sam, at least do it in private, or _quietly_." She sent pointed glances around the room at the other girls who pretended to not hear.

Sam sighed and rolled her eyes in annoyance, but sat on the bed and spoke in a whisper. "Why do you do this to yourself Taren?" she asked, worried. "I've heard the other girls talking. Tatiana keeps saying she's gonna go to Sister Kathryn if you keep doing this. Half the younger girls can't sleep because of you."

"Because of me? What have I done?"

"It's not what you do, Taren, and you know it. With the lives these girls have lived, they've heard screaming before." Sam snapped. "It's the look in your eye every time this happens. You're always terrified, and the girls are starting to fear it as well–"

"They don't even know what my dreams are about –"

"That doesn't matter!" Sam yelled, her voice echoing around the room. All eyes watching the pair. Sam dropped her voice to a whisper again. "Little girls are more afraid of faceless demons than anything else."

They sat in silence, listening to their roommates settle back to sleep. Taren finally broke the silence.

"What will Sister Kathryn do?" she asked, careful to let any worry show. "If Tatiana tells her, what will happen to me?"

Sam stared sadly into Taren's eyes. "I don't know." She answered, wringing her hands and looking out across the vaulted dormitory. "But the Sisters already know–"

"What?"

"Other girls had already thing." Sam quickly whispered, trying to keep Taren's infamous temper in check. "Just last week I hear Sarah complaining to Sister Mary because your nightmares kept her up all night. And the Sister wasn't surprised, said she'd hear it before.

"Taren, you have to stop this." muttered Sam. "Tatiana's influential. The Sisters like her. If she complains…"

"I'm screwed." Taren whispered, staring blankly at the moon as it shined down on her.

Every one knew what happened to problematic orphans at St. Josephine the Merciful's Home for Girls. Most were "disposed of", sent into the states care; usually foster homes. Horror stories always came back about those sent away. Ending up on the street, dead or prostituting themselves before they were even legal. The tales of rape and assault alone was enough to keep any girl from acting up. The few that weren't heard of again just disappeared. No stories; no nothing. They never came back and the Sisters acted like they never existed.

And Taren knew what it was like out there. She had been an orphan since she was a year old, and of her fourteen years of being with out family, only the last five had been at St. Josephine's. She had battled through those raging and horror filled waters for nine years, tossed from home to home because of things she had no control over. It wasn't just the nightmares that forced her to pick up everything and leave. There were also the strange occurrences that happened around her. Glasses exploded when she was angry; people disappeared when she ignored them and then reappeared thousands of miles away when she wondered where they had gone. Most reappeared in Timbuktu. Many of her foster families had accused her of demon possession. A few even called for Priests to perform exorcisms. Needless to say, they never worked, and before long, she was packing her few belongings and shipped off again.

It wasn't like Taren enjoyed it either. These things always ate away at her and she feared herself because of it, feared the strange things she could do. It wasn't until Taren arrived at St. Josephine's that her caregivers had tried to fix her problems instead of punishing her for them. After only one glass explosion, the Church set her up with a psychologist and a weekly yoga session. Taren was on the fast track to normalism. It only took a few months of that and nothing strange has happened since. But the nightmares never went away. Never in the same place, but always the same figure, pointing a stick at her and causing her scar to burn into her cheek anew.

At that thought, Taren brought her fingers up to her cheek, absently tracing its lightening bolt shape. It no longer felt as if it was being carved into her flesh, but it still tingled.

The lightning bolt had been there for as long as she could remember thought she never knew why or how she got it. It was thin, well defined; delicate and following the curve of her cheekbone perfectly. The skin around it was dotted with short curved scars. She used to tell people they were small moons, created to go with her scar. But in reality, they were the same shape as her fingernails when they unconsciously broke the skin during a nightmare.

She pulled her hand away to find her finger tips red with blood. Taren groaned and rolled her eyes at her luck. Now the Sisters would defiantly know. She reached for a tissue to clean herself up. Sam sighed at her and tugged it out of her hand. "Here let me."

She sat down on the bed and proceeded to wipe the blood from her best friends face.

A heavy silence filled the room. Most of the girls were asleep, their even breathing echoing through the hall. Taren sat in a deep, helpless state. She couldn't go back. They wouldn't send her back. Not after all the kindness and work they had put into her. St. Josephine's wouldn't just turn their backs on her now. They couldn't.

A tear spilled from Taren's eye, slowly carving a path down her cheek. It joined with a bead of blood and turned red. It fell from her chin staining a perfect dot on the sheets. Sam looked at her friend with deep seated worry and sorrow. In the five years Taren had been at St. Josephine's, not once had she ever cried. Never. Not when she broke her arm two years ago, or when she had watched helplessly as her boyfriend, a boy named Jeremy from Dorm 4, was hit and killed by a drunk driver. She had been extremely close to the hyper but gentle boy. She didn't speak for a week, but not a single tear dropped. She did not cry when her pet rat, Reigning Monarch Francisco Ricardo VI of Guadalupe (Frankie, for short), had been eaten by a cat, or when her beloved violin had been stolen, then found, smashed to bits of sawdust and metal three days later. She never cried, never allowed herself that privilege or anyone else the privilege of seeing her in such a vulnerable state.

And now, there she sat, quietly sobbing. In a silent dormitory, having blood wiped from her face by the only person in which she held a semblance of trust.

Sure, Taren was Sam's best friend and they trusted each other as best they could. But even with that relationship Taren wouldn't show any feelings. It was a defense thing with her, protecting both her friends and herself from things she couldn't control. Sam didn't even know what the dreams were about. Taren always refused to say, as if ignoring it would make the problem go away.

Sam pulled the tissue away, Taren's face finally cleaned, her tanned skin showing smooth in the moon light. "Taren, I – "

"Don't let them take me."

"What?"

She turned, a reckless desperation showing in her eyes. "Don't let the state take me. I'll go away, if the Church won't keep me, but promise me you won't let them send me to the state." Taren was clearly trying to stay calm and controlled, but was quickly turning hysterical.

"Taren, I don't have that kind of –"

"I'll take care of myself if I have to. I'm young, most won't care if I'm pretty, just as long as I'm female – "

"Don't you dare talk like that Taren Lily Potter. You are not going to – "

"How do you know?" Taren gripped Sam by the arms, her eyes shining insanely - desperately. "I would do anything not to go back there. You don't know what it's like. The families don't care you like them or not, if they're good or not. Most only take you in for the money. And the state doesn't care. They don't care if you're raped or robbed or murdered, just as long as they don't have to deal with you any more."

The two girls sat silently, staring at one another, both stunned by what Taren had said. Everyone knew it was true, but no one ever said it out loud.

"Okay, I'll try."

Taren continued to search Sam's eyes, but finally let her go, slowly dropping her hands to her lap and giving a slow nod. Her eyes began to traverse the room blankly, as if searching for something that was not there. She continued to nod with that same haunted look, slowly laying back to stare at the underside of the top bunk, emotionally drained.

Sam continued to watch as her friend stared at the bunk above her. Her eyes slowly fluttered shut, and as Sam finally got up and fell into her own bed, Taren again started tossing in her sleep. Her hand again flew to her cheek and the drops of blood could be seen from across the room, but no sound came out. Her eyes and mouth were screwed shut.

It tore at Sam's heart, to know that, when morning came, Taren would be just as bright and sarcastic as always, acting as if nothing had happened.

As Sam finally dozed off that night, one final thought crossed her lips in a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Taren."

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Woah, that's deep. well, anyway, see that cute little periwinkle-ish colored button? Ya, the one that says 'review' on it? yep. that's it! Well, you can do something really cool if you click on it. You can tell me what you think! I know! Isn't that neat?


	2. 2: Of Kazakhstan and Lightbulbs

I kinda forgot a disclaimer last time so here goes:

**Disclaimer:** While I claim Taren and the rest of St. Jo's, I have no claim to anyone from Mrs. Rowling's world. If you recognize it, it ain't mine.

**Taren**

by A Solitary Burch Tree

Chapter Dos: Of Kazakhstan and lightbulbs

Taren was sitting in the cafeteria, slowing playing with her oatmeal and wishing they served coffee in orphanages, when one of the lesser nuns came for her.

She tried to feign innocence as she was guided into Sister Kathryn's office, but she knew why she was there. And apparently every other kid in the place did as well, telling from the stares and muttering Taren received as she left the others to their meals.

The fresh bandage covering her left cheek might have given it away as well.

The sister's office was simple, like the rest of the nunnery, and doubled as her sleeping quarters. There was a small cot on the floor in one corner and a simple wooden cross on the wall above it. A small window over the foot of the bed shed some natural light on the bare room. Centered in front of the door was Sister Kathryn's desk. Like the chair in which she sat, her desk was unornamented wood, with only a lamp and a neat stack of papers sitting on it.

Call it women's intuition, but when Taren woke up with her pillow speckled with blood, she knew it would be for the last time in these halls. So she allowed Sam to clean up her face and bandage her cheek, and quietly dressed in her usual attire, as if nothing was different. She made her bed to perfection like every morning, and made her way to the cafeteria, not passing up the chance to jar Tatiana's arm as she applied lipstick for the fourth time that morning.

Once in the cafeteria she got her normal bowl of oatmeal and sat down to play with it until she was able to stop by the quick mart for her three cups of coffee and jelly donut on the way to school. Only this morning, she would not be getting breakfast.

Sister Kathryn smiled warmly up at Taren from the papers she had been reading. Her eyes were a deep brown and lined with light wrinkles. Her hair color was unknown and so was her age because of it. In her habit, she could have been any where between thirty and sixty-five.

"Hello Taren," her voice was smooth and held a touch of sadness. "Please, sit down." She motioned to one of the chairs against the wall. "Bring it over here."

Taren mechanically carried it to the desk and sat, nervous. "Is there something you needed Sister?" she asked with a small smile, trying to remain nonchalant.

The Sister looked the young woman in front of her in the eye and heaved a sigh. "You know why you're here Taren."

Taren dropped her gaze to her lap, wringing her hands. A sad silence filled the room. Taren gave a nearly imperceptible nod. "I know." Her voice was barely audible as she looked up. "I'm sorry, Sister. I don't mean for this to happen. I tried – you don't know how hard I tried. I just can't control them. I'm - I'm sorry."

"I know, my child." Sister Kathrin said back, reaching across the desk. "I know you tried, but it's just not enough anymore. The Church has to look out for the best interests of everyone as a whole. We wish there was another way – "

"Not the State." Taren said, louder that intended. She was slightly cowed by her outburst, but looked straight into Sister Kathryn's eyes none the less.

The sister gave a gentle smile and chuckled slightly. "No, we know how you feel about the State." Her smile melted. "But I fear you won't much like your other options either."

She shifted her papers nervously. "I'm not sure if you knew that St Josephine's isn't a single nunnery?"

Taren shook her head.

"It's an international church. There are six Churches of St. Josephine the Merciful in the world. One here, in Seattle, obviously; there's another in Kansas – "

"You're sending me to Kansas." Taren starred, open mouthed at the older woman, slightly horrified at the notion.

Sister Kathrin smiled. "No, we are not sending you to Kansas." Taren heaved a sigh, a hand at her heart. "They don't have any spaces available anyway. We also have churches set up in Kazakhstan, Thailand, Sudan-"

"As in Africa?"

"Yes."

"As in the third world country?"

"Yes."

"Aren't they in the middle of a war right now?"

"Yes."

"I don't want to get shot, thanks all the same."

"Taren, your tongue did not help in your argument for staying."

She looked sheepish down at her hands and muttered an apology.

"Now, St. Josephine's in Thailand has the best accommodations, but unfortunately they also have no space available and the language barrier would cause a problem."

Taren looked up, her personality getting the better of her. "Well, the same thing would happen in the other places. Sudan…Kaiserstein or whatever it's called. Hell, I'm not sure I could understand them in _Kansas_."

"Taren" Sister Kathryn said sharply, but shook her head wearily all the same. "You're not helping your predicament. That sarcasm of yours has put half the sisters into tears over the last five years."

Taren humbly hung her head, but felt a little pride in her accomplishment. _Only half?_

Sister Kathryn shuffled her papers nervously, as if stalling. "There is one more church with openings and we have decided to send you there. Now it is just as far away, the accommodations are not what we would have hoped for and the language may cause some trouble but…we think sending you to – well, we think sending you to London is the best option."

"What?" A slight ringing noise had filled her ears.

Kathryn spoke gently. "Taren, we are going to send you to London."

"London?" Taren whispered, fully aware now and trying to grasp the idea. "As is England, London? As in 'Land of tea, accents and bad food' London?" A hint of hysteria was sneaking into her voice. It was easy to make jokes about places she wouldn't be going, but to know her destination was already planned was slightly terrifying.

Sister Kathrin cradled her head in her hand and closed her eyes. "Yes Taren," she said exasperatedly for the millionth time since the girl had arrived at her doorstep five years ago. "But I don't think they would appreciate being called that." She thought Taren was simply overreacting. That she was just being as melodramatic as ever.

Taren wasn't listening. She stared at the desk in front of her in wonderment. England. She was moving to _England_. She, a girl who had rarely even visited the next town over was going to live on an entirely different continent. A place where she had no family and no friends.

"Taren." Sister Kathryn asked gently. Taren didn't seem to notice. "Taren?" Still no reaction. Okay, so maybe it was an act. "Taren! Honey, look at me."

She was pulled out her stupor and looked into the nun's steady eyes. "Your plane leaves tomorrow."

Taren nodded blankly, but continued starring at the desk, mouth hanging slightly open. She wouldn't even have time to process all of this. "What about my paperwork? Won't that take a while to fill out?" She was reaching for anything to delay her departure.

Sister Kathryn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "It's already been completed. There wasn't much to do anyway." She paused, unsure if she should say anything more.

Taren wasn't dropping it that easily. "But I would have to change citizenship…"

"No, no, you - you don't." Sister Kathryn spoke quickly, as if it pained her to say it. "It would seem that…well, it seems you are already a citizen, so…we don't have to do any paperwork for that."

That caught Taren's attention. "What? How could I be a citizen already?" She was becoming increasingly confused. "That's impossible; I've never even been there."

"Well, actually…you have." Kathryn paused, trying to find a way to put it gently. Finally, she simply pulled out a sheet from her paper pile. "According to this…you were born there."

Sister Kathryn slid a worn slip of paper towards Taren. '**OFFICIAL CERTIFICATION OF BIRTH OF THE BRITISH ISLES**' was written across the top in ornate and official letters.

Taren saw her own name neatly printed underneath.

As her eyes wandered around the page, she saw many things she already knew, her name and date of birth among them. But her eyes got caught on two other names. Two names that she had yearned to know all her life and now stared up at her as if they were nothing important.

**MOTHER:** Lily AlexandraPotter

**FATHER:** James Edmund Potter

She starred long and hard at those names, trying to feel _something_, anything. Any sort of kinship to those two people or any face she could place with them. But they were just names, just letters on a piece of paper. They had no meaning to her. No memories were rekindled. Her mind was still stuck on the fact that she was British.

Taren swallowed, trying hard to keep her emotions at bay. "How did I not know this?" she said hoarsely, but speaking broke the dam, and she began to feel angry and ashamed that her parents still meant nothing to her. Her voice grew. "Why did no one tell me I wasn't American?"

Kathryn tried to calm the girls rising anger. "Maybe you are an American citizen. There are still a lot of things that we don't know. The child is usually left out of the foster care bureaucracy for their mental wellbeing, and you were too young to legally make your own decisions. The church didn't even know you were a British citizen until we started searching for a place you could go."

Taren's eyes became icy and her anger continued to mount. Sister Kathryn's words didn't seem to be helping and she was starting to panic. "Taren, none of this is your fault. There is nothing we can do about it." Kathryn could feel tension rising in the room. She watched as the bulb of her lamp began to rattle. "If you like, you can look through your records – "

The bulb shattered, sending shards of glass flying. The lamp shade kept the explosion directed at the desk, but Sister Kathryn didn't move fast enough. Her hand was now peppered with bits of glass. The only light source now was the single window at the foot of her bed and it cast Taren in shadows. She hadn't even flinched, her eyes still glued to her birth certificate. She was unharmed.

Taren was the first to break the tense silence. "I should probably pack." Her voice was flat and lifeless.

Sister Kathryn gave a shaky sigh and nodded her head. Taren was such a sweet girl, but there was something inside of her that was just plain _scary_. "Yes, you probably should. I-I'll call the school and tell them you won't be coming back." She tried to taking on an authoritative tone, but the girl wouldn't have noticed anyway.

She was already putting the chair back against the wall and leaving.

As Taren walked out, Sister Jane walked in. "What's wrong with her?"

Sister Kathryn quickly explained the situation.

Jane raised an eye brow in pity and worry for the girl. "Hard life that one's had, and it's only gonna get worse."

Kathryn fiddled with a small piece of glass. "Yes, it will. I worry…"

Jane raised another eyes brow. "About what? Taren? Her life may be hard, but with a temper like that, she can take care of herself."

"Hum?" Sister Kathryn looked perplexed for a second then realized what she was saying. "Oh! I was talking everyone else she'll meet. They're the ones that will have to go up against it."

Sister Jane only laughed. "I'll go find another light bulb and something to clean up your hand."

"Yes, please do."

Sister Kathryn sat in the dark, deep in though.

What would become of the girl? Whatever allowed her to do the things she did was very powerful. It she could control it, it would definitely come in handy, but if it took control of her… She hoped it never came to that. But if it did…

Sister Jane came back in before she could think about it.

End Chapter Dos : )

A few things I'd just like to add: In case you didn't notice, I COMPLETELY made up the middle names and the birth certificate. They are completely random and are there simply because they flowed. And I have nothing against Kansas or Sudan. I'm sure they are wonderful places. And Kazakstan is a real place. I looked it up in an atlas and everything.

I leave to spend a week in Alaska with minimal to no computer access in a few days and then start working at a two-week camp the day I come home. I will be spending my days dancing, singing, and stage fighting with special needs kids. Sound fun? It actually is. I live for this camp. My entire summer revolves around it. It's wonderous, glorious, beautious and anything else ending in -ous. But it's also incredibly exausting so I'm not sure how much writing I will be doing.

Also my computer has been throwing minor tantrums and being stupid lately, so that will be interesting.

**WhYiStHeRuMgOnE: **I am honored by your approval. It was a very uplifting first review. As for the eye color, I've got a friend who's eyes are honest to god the color of a huge, fat, menacingstorm cloud that roles in unannounced and soaks youasyou run toyour car. Though I will admit that they are sort of abluey-grey. But so are storm clouds if you look closely.


	3. 3: Welcome to the Story of My Life

Disclaimer: I own Taren, St. Jo's and anything else you don't recognize. Nuf said.

Chapter Three: Welcome to the Story of My Life

Taren didn't deal well with change. She used to be able to pack her bags and leave at the drop of a hat, but that was a long time ago. Back when she expected families to get rid of her. With St. Josephine's though, she had let herself get used to living there. She even went so far as to call it home. St. Josephine's had become the only constant in her life, and now she was being torn away from it.

After she left Sister Kathryn's office, Taren had packed her few possessions and went for a walk, escaping into the bustling streets of Seattle. It was early June. Summer hadn't taken hold of the city quite yet. A strong, chilling wind swept between the buildings. The noises filled her senses and distracted her from her problems. She could focus on the cars and people, and forget about her dilemma. She let her self get lost in the hoards of tourists and street vendors at Pike Place Market. She watched with jealous fascination, the innocent children and their families traveling up and down the Space Needle: a place she had never been, despite living in its shadow most of her life. Taren wandered in and out of stores of Downtown, aimlessly, for the sole purpose of pissing off the clerks. It wasn't until she was accosted by three homeless men on 2nd Ave. that she decided it was time to head back to the orphanage. It was getting dark anyway; dinner would be starting soon.

Taren's mood was contagious. The entire cafeteria was subdued. People talked in whispers, if they talked at all. Taren sat and picked at her food.

After dinner, she returned with the rest of the girls to their dormitory. The hall was sullen. Many girls were already preparing for bed when she noticed a file folder sitting on her bed side table. It was fairly thick, with papers sticking out at odd angles. There was a note stuck to the front:

_I hope these help you accept and understand. This is all we have and everything we know. Please take it with you and give it to Sister Margaret in London. I am truly sorry. – Sister Kathryn_

For a long while, Taren simply stared at the closed file folder, wondering if she really wanted to know these things. Finally she forced herself to sit cross-legged and pull it onto the bed in front of her.

The papers inside were jumbled and out of order; it was hard to discern any sort of timeline as dates were not easy to find. She had to carefully scan the pages to find anything. After an hour of organizing, she had a rough chronological order of her life. Taking a final deep breath, she started with the first page…

_Fifteen years ago, on July 31st, Taren Lily Potter was born to Lily Alexandra Potter and James Edmund Potter in the small town of Godric's Hollow, England. She was born at home, with the help of an unnamed midwife. _

_For the first year, Taren's life was uneventful. There was little documentation, except a few routine doctor visit summaries. Nothing showed who the doctor was or what hospital they practiced at. _

_Four weeks after her first birthday, Taren's home was ripped apart by an explosion. Police reports said it came from the kitchen, most likely a gas leak on or near the stove. Taren was pulled from the house by two passersby before any officials arrived. She was the only survivor._

_Taren was cared for at a London hospital for three months, and during that time, no living family members could be found. 'Potter' was too common of a name, no one came forward to claim her, and there was no record of what Lily's maiden name was. It took the hospital two months just to find her records._

_Eventually, she was adopted by an American couple living in New Bedford, Massachusetts. Their names were Michael and Carol Nelson and were unable to have children of their own. Four months after Taren arrived in the States, they were killed in a car crash while driving into Boston. Taren was with a babysitter when in happened. _

_After that, there was only general information about her life. She stayed in the United States Foster Care System. Sixteen foster families in eight years, each stay shorter than the last and none in the same state as the last. Her homes spanned from Maine to Texas to Wyoming, and finally, to Washington. All of them had the same reason why she couldn't stay: strange coincidences and impossible occurrences. There were six recorded exorcism attempts. _

_Finally, there were no more families that would take Taren. The government had no where to put her. After looking at her record, not even the group homes would take her. Three months before Taren's tenth birthday, Sister Kathryn approached the Child Protective Services and offered to take Taren off of their hands. They willingly let her go._

_From that point on, her life was fairly happy and very well documented. She attended Hawthorne Elementary for a year, and then went to Denny Middle School and Garfield High school. Taren went to the doctor and the dentist every six months. Mellissa Stormily of Bellevue was her Psychologist and Taren took yoga lessons at Cornerstone Studios on Capitol Hill. _

_Three full pagers were dedicated to an impressive list of complaints made by the Sisters of St. Josephine's about Taren. Many contained the phrase "flippant towards superiors."_

Taren read long into the night. She was surprised by how little she had known. She never knew she had been adopted. She couldn't remember ever living in Maine or Wyoming. She had never realized that no one would take her. She never realized that Sister Kathryn had taken her on as a pity case, that if Sister Kathryn hadn't taken her, Taren would probably be on the streets.

And Taren spent a long time on the list of complaints. She smiled as she remembered what she had done to deserve them. The idea of taking the lists and not giving them to the nuns in London flitted across her mind, but she quickly decided against it. They might as well know the whole brutal truth.

End Chapter Three

So, ya. I'm interested in what you think of this. It seemed kind of bland but I've have a very trying three weeks and I think it may show. Fantastic three weeks but exhausting none the less. You try keeping a kid twice your size focused when he has decide you are actually Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer from Texas. Not easy, trust me.


	4. Now For Something Completely Different

Howdy, Yall! I'm sad to announce that this is the last chapter I already have written. I only had to make last minute changes up until now. I'm not sure if it will take longer to pump out chapies or not but they will no longer be edited for a year before posting like all my other ones. They will now be almost, sort of, not entirely, impromptu!

**Disclaimer:** Hah! What do ya know? I still don't own it! Damn...

Chapter Four: And Now For Something Completely Different...

"Potter be yer name?"

"Yes ma'am. Taren Potter."

Sister Margaret was nothing like Sister Kathryn. She was old and strict. There was no love or kindness in her cold, hard blue eyes, just discipline and order. It didn't help that her thick Scottish accent was nearly impossible to understand. The nun's voice was so scratchy, it sounded more like a croaking frog than human language.

Currently she was looking through Taren's Doctor's report. "That scar 'ill cause quite a stur." The old woman gave a short laugh.

"A stir? What do you mean?" Taren's hand drifted self-consciously towards her cheek.

Her head snapped up, blue stabbing into Taren's grey. The amusement disappeared to be replaced with more anger. "So ye will be stayin' for hor long?"

Taren blinked at the sudden change of subject and manner. "Um, I don't know?"

"Speak up! We don't tol'rate shady enunciation." The nun snapped, making Taren jump. The sudden change in attitude was slightly unnerving. Taren raised a single eyebrow at the fact that the sister was harder to understand than herself.

Taren cleared her throat and spoke louder, leaning forward a little. "I don't know how long I'm staying. Until I'm legal I guess."

"Legal?" the sister asked, confused by the term. It was as if the crone's strange comment had never happened.

"Allowed to live on my own," Taren yelled back.

"Hurumph." The sister didn't seem too happy about that, but kept any comments to herself. "Vary well. We only 'ave a bed for ye for the next week –"

"A week? Where will I stay after that!"

"Don't int'rupt yer elders!" the old woman barked.

Taren jumped again, but stayed silent. She may look ancient, but the oak stick lying on the desk next to her wasn't.

"Now, we got a sister orph'nege in de country. Somun will be out in a few days ta speak wif you and see if youl fit in."

"And if I don't?" Taren asked tentatively, wondering if she could speak or not.

Sister Margaret didn't answer for a long time. Instead she flipped through Taren's file. "Fram wat yo file says, youl fit in just fine." Sister Margaret's face broke into an unnerving grimace. Taren assumed it was supposed to be a smile. A disturbing laugh erupted from the old woman behind the desk. "Only six exorcisms you say? Heh, Albus will be quite interested in you…"

She drifted off into silence, still flipping through the folder. Taren sat silently as well, trying to understand what was happening.

"Um…what does my scar have to do with anything?"

Sister Margaret just smiled, showing where teeth should have been.

Taren stared in horrified fascination. _You are so creepy…_

-----------------------------------------

Sister Kathryn's words rang through her head.

"_The accommodations are not what we would have hoped…"_

_Now _there's_ an understatement._

"You get back here you bloody hoe-bag so I can _claw your eyes out_!"

As Taren stepped through the door, she watched a tall, heavy-set girl chase a nondescript and much younger child clutching a raggedy doll to her chest down the main corridor of the hall.

Taren stared, grey eyes wide. That was just the beginning. A cluster of girls stood in one corner, huddled over a magazine Taren was almost certain did not talk about the latest fashions. Farther down a girl was being smothered by a pillow as three girls pinned her to the bunk. BITCH-HOE was splashed across the wall in lipstick. Every bed was unmade and most girls looked like they hadn't bathed in days. Taren wondered absently if anyone had ever died in this place. She wouldn't have been at all surprised.

The heavy girl suddenly lunged and tackled the younger one to the ground. Taren watched as they wrestled.

_Oh dear god…_

Suddenly a week seemed too long.

A girl came running out from behind one of the beds, waving her arms frantically. A pair of sooty goggles bounced around her neck. "Run!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. "_Run!_"

Some girls looked up at her, not comprehending, but most just ignored her. A few of the younger ones followed her orders and began running for the exit.

Suddenly, a huge explosion tore apart a bunk bed and set a shock wave through the room. Bits of wood, cement dust and burning cloth flew through the air as every girl in the vicinity was thrown to the ground.

As the room settled, Taren did not get up. No one seemed to be severely hurt. She could already hear the other girls returning to their previous occupations. For a moment, only the sound of running feet and alarmed yells could be heard, coming from far away.

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god…I _cannot_ stay here…_

Taren felt the closest to crying she had been in a very long time.

---------------------------------------------

Four days later, Taren was a complete wreck. After the exploding bunk bed – which destroyed two other and damaged three more – , the girls had preceded to start an all out war over the remaining ones. Apparently there already had not been enough bunks to accommodate everyone, and losing six more was disastrous. A dozen girls were sent to the hospital with injuries ranging from severe slivers and burns to broken fingers and minor skull fractures. The suffocated girl was alive, but in ICU.

Needless to say, Taren didn't partake in the brawl. She hid in the bathroom until all was quiet and then slept on the floor.

Or rather, she lay on the floor, because between the late night arguments, fights, and the other girl's nightmares, no one got much sleep. It was slightly comforting in a disturbing sort of way, knowing that their screams and moans of pain – both imagined and real - put her own to shame. Suddenly, her life didn't seem all that bad.

Eventually, Taren drifted off in the wee hours of the morning, but it was not restful.

And on the third night in London, as Taren lay in a corner, a sudden realization struck her. She no longer dreamed of deserted courtyards and terrifying figures. She hadn't added new finger nail marks to her cheek since she left Seattle and she no longer woke up screaming bloody murder. If fact, the tiny scars were almost completely healed.

She still had nightmares, but they were different. Instead, her nights were filled with someone else's screams, someone else begging for pity. A someone that she could not see or recognize. Except for the laughter, Taren always recognized the laughter…

_A blinding green light. A whooshing sound. A thump and a muffled scream. _

_High pitched, menacing, laughter. _

_"No…no…please…take me…not them…please, no, not my…"_

_Another flash of green light and another thump._

_More laughter. Maniacal, deadly laughter. _

_Some were, a baby cried._

_Green light, pointed in her direction._

_A horror and agony filled scream – silence._

Taren never woke up screaming from these dreams. She never woke up with more blood on her pillow. But she always woke up soaked to the bone and shaking with sweat and fear. But she wasn't afraid of the dream itself. The fear came with the dream, as if she had been terrified when it happened and the fear carried through the years.

But this had never happened.

Or had it?

England was doing something to her. She was slowly accepting the fact that she was from Britain. Granted, she still had the American mentality, but she felt a connection to this land. The fact that she was persecuted by the other girls for having a "Yankee accent" didn't help her forget the U.S. either.

London was changing her. For good or bad, she wasn't sure, but it was. And if the dreams were any sign, confusion was going to come right along with it.

----------------------------------------: )

Question for anyone who wants to answer: What house should she be in? I can't make up my mind! I have plot lines for all of them. Ayudame!

Review por favor!

**Lady of the Serpents: **Gracias! I hope you like this one just as much.

**Storms in Heaven:** Hey hey hey! Thanks for reviewing. It makes me happy. And you liked it! Even better mi amiga! As for the name, I chose it simply because I like it. It was simple and unassuming, yet strong and versitile. I looked it up and aparently this spelling doesn't exist (even though this is the only way I've ever seen it...), but TARAN means earth, TARIN means Rocky Hill, TARUN means young male and TARYN means Irish hillside. So I guess it's like a masculine rocky hill in Ireland or something. Whatever. Oh, and I'm totally excited for the Freemason rant!


	5. ChaChaChaChanges!

Howdy all. Wow. It's been a while. Life sort of exploded all around me when school started a week ago (Two essays given on the first day of school. NOT COOL.), and I haven't even really had to time sleep, much less write (except for that day when i skipped and slept until 2, but I would rather not repeat that). And I was stupid enough to sign up for disgustingly hard classes this year, so between school, homework, a job, my parents, drama, eating, sleeping, and having some sort of semblence of a life, I'll see what I can get done here. Sorry. I cry a little inside every time I think about not being able to work on this.

And yes, it's kind of short, I just wanted to have an update, even if it's microscopic and a bit of a cliffie. I felt like I was neglecting you. Again, sorry.

**Disclaimer**: Heyhey! What do ya know. I still own Taren and nothing more.

Chapter Five

"Taren?"

The redhead looked over her shoulder to see who was using her real name. It was strange hearing it after almost a week of being called "stupid Yankee."

It was Sister Angeline, nervously wringing her hands. She was small, with doe eyes and a very gentle demeanor. Because she was so nice, the other girls walked all over her, but she was Taren's favorite Nun here. She was the only one to treat Taren with any semblance of courtesy. She actually cared how you were doing when she asked and she was a sort of kindred spirit – Angeline was born and raised in San Antonio, Texas. She only came to London when she joined Saint Josephine's.

Taren gave a warm smile to the woman. "Sister Angeline, good morning!"

"Good morning Taren. Sister Margaret sent me to find you. She wants you to be in her office at ten o'clock…and prepared for an interview." An excited smile spread across the Sister's face. She knew of Taren's predicament and sympathized with her immensely.

Taren's smile dropped into a look of stunned disbelief. "Are you serious?" When she nodded, excitedly Taren's smile came back bigger than ever. "You mean…" She could barely say it, for fear of getting her hopes up. "…someone's finally here?" She squealed earning glares from the girls around her. It was too early for such a high pitch. It did horrors to a hang over headache.

"Yes," Sister Angeline said happily. "Prior Albus has come to speak with you."

"Oh my god…" Taren was too exited for words. This was it. Everything was coming to a head.

Taren quickly forgot about her breakfast, allowing the girls around her to fight over the remains as she rushed out of the cafeteria. Giving Sister Angeline a quick hug, she ran.

As she booked it down the hall, the thrill wore off and a flurry of nerves started rising in her stomach and doubt began to creep into her mind. What if she wasn't allowed to go? What if they didn't want her? What if they left her to fend of herself on the unknown streets of London? Sister Margaret was no Sister Kathryn. She couldn't care less about what happened to the orphans. And what if the other orphanage was even worse than this place? It was in the country, farther away from civilization. Anything could happen.

_But anything is better than _this _horror house, _she thought to herself, rummaging through her bag, trying to find something clean to wear. _I don't care if it's a one room shack with a hundred kids shoved in it; I'm _going _to get out of this place. _

She pulled a worn Jack's Mannequin concert t-shirt over her head and a pair of wrinkled jeans. It was going to have to be good enough. Gathering her make-up kit, she rushed into the bathroom. Now that the scabs were gone and there were no new wounds on her cheek, Taren would be able to cover the lightning bolt with foundation. _For once in my life I'll look normal!_

With five minutes to spare, Taren packed up her make-up and stared at herself in the mirror, surprised but pleased with the finished product.

She had never seen herself like this before. Her face was clear, and seemed brighter, more open. There were no scars or scabs for people to stare at. Nothing for people to question her about. Her grey eyes didn't seem as angry somehow, as if the scar had made her seem meaner – tougher – than she really was. It was the first time in years she didn't feel like 'that girl with the scar'. She was simply Taren Potter and she loved the sensation.

With a few final brush strokes through her hair, she jogged towards Sister Margaret's office. Stopping in front of the door, she heaved a deep but slow and steady sigh, trying to relax, letting the gentle, late June sun playing through a window, warm her.

_Calm down Taren. There's nothing to worry about. It's just your entire future that rides on this interview…_

Sometimes, Taren thought as she stopped to mentally kick herself, Taren could be her own worst enemy.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So ya. there ya go. Review! Even if it's a flamer. I need attention!

**Storms in Heaven**: If I could hug you over the internet I totally freaking would. Instead, I'll just have to sufice with an adoring reply, and maybe hugging you on monday. As for the house issue, I am in exactly the same boat. I was actually leaning towards the snake den as well, because it would make things way interesting. I don't want to cut her off from the trio though, but I think I've come up with a couple ideas that would work. As for the editing: HELL YES! I'll talk in more detail at school. Laters!

**Lady of the Serpents**: Gracias! I'm so glad you enjoy it! It makes me all bubbly and giggly inside. If I could hug you through the internet as well, I totally would!


	6. Witch with a W

Okay guys, I know, you probably want to beat the crap out of me for not updating in 2 months huh? Well, I'm really really really sorry. Don't beat me, beat my teachers for thinking that their class is the only one that gives homework, and beat my boss making me work massive hours, and beat my director for increasing the number of rehersals from 2 a week to 4 a week. But it's finally here!! Thank Storms in Heaven for editing for me!

**Disclaimer:** This one time, at band camp, there was this chick, and she didn't own any of this. Except for St. Jo's of course.

Chapter 6: Witch with a W

"Ah, Ms. Pott'r, please, tak a seat."

Taren glanced nervously around the room, as she sat down in one of the two chairs placed in front of Sister Margaret's desk. Her office was startlingly similar to Sister Kathryn's. The only difference was that instead of a single cross above the bed, there were dozens, of all sizes, covering every wall. It had a rather creepy effect.

"Um…you wanted to see me Sister?" Taren couldn't help but glance at the empty chair next to her.

A crooked smile carved its way across the old woman's face. "Ay, I did. Somun is here from da country orph'nage to speak wif ye." A gentle knock sounded from the hallway. "And ah do believe he es here."

Taren turned in her seat to see who it was. At first all she saw was layer upon layer of heavy fabric and hair. Lots and lots of hair. On closer inspection though, she saw an elderly man, with incredibly long white hair and beard. Tucked in between was a pair of twinkling blue eyes behind a pair of half-moon shaped glasses. He wore draping robes of a rich purple color that glided across the floor as he made his way towards them. All in all, he had an air of good natured but weary calmness about him. Taren immediately liked and trusted the aging man.

"Prior Doombledoor, good te see ye. Please, tak a seat."

Taren stared fixedly at the old man as he deliberately lowered himself into the chair next to her.

"Taren," Sister Margaret said sharply snapping the girl out of her daze. "Dis es Prior Albus Doombledoor. He's already seen yer files, boot still wanted te meet ye. A'll be a leavin ye now to conduct yer bus'ness. Good dey."

With that, she shuffled from the room, leaving her two guests to sit in silence.

As the door closed, Taren glanced uncertainly out of the corner of her eye to study the other occupant, but found he was now watching her as well. He simply sat and gazed at her with a small smile playing across his lips, hands clasped simply in his lap.

"Uh…hi," Taren said awkwardly, trying to break the silence, with an unsure smile.

The man's smile widened. "Hello Ms. Potter. How are you?" His voice was gentle and only had a slight accent over it. It was much easier to understand than Sister Margaret's.

"Good," she mumbled.

The silence continued.

Finally he spoke again. Sitting up straighter and turning his body towards her, he asked a simple question, his eyes carefully void of emotion. "Tell me Ms. Potter, do you believe in magic?"

Taren frowned, slightly confused. "What?" Magic? What did that have to do with anything?

He gave a secretive smile. "Trust me Ms. Potter, it has everything to do with our conversation."

Taren raised a single eyebrow. "Okay then…um, I don't really know, I guess…" She had never really thought about it before. Did she? Her first thought was no, magic's just an old guy pulling rabbits out of hats for a living. But then as she though about it, that wasn't magic. Like she said, that was just some old guy, trying to making a living. Did she believe in real magic? An image of that dark, hooded figure pointing a stick at her flickered before her minds eyes.

Taren answered carefully, trying to put her feelings into words. "There's nothing really proving it exists, but there's nothing proving it doesn't either. I guess I honestly don't know."

She glanced back up at the man, to see him studying her again with an unreadable expression, nodding slightly. He stared straight into her eyes, and Taren couldn't seem to look away. She didn't know how long they stayed like that - could have been seconds or days. Finally he broke eye contact and spoke.

"What if I told you that magic was real? And that I could prove it to you, that I could show it to you?"

She didn't know how to answer that, so she didn't.

"Ms. Potter, I don't run an orphanage – I run a boarding school. I am not a Prior, as Margaret called me; I am a professor – the Headmaster actually – at a very…distinct school. I think you would do very well there."

"I don't understand…I'm not going to another orphanage?"

"No. I would like you to attend my boarding school. Normally we offer admittance to students when they are eleven years old, but you are a special case."

She still wasn't completely comprehending. "I still don't quite get it. What do you mean 'a distinct school'?"

He sat still for a moment, considering. "Taren, has anything strange ever happened around you? Have things ever happen when you're angry, or sad, that you can't explain?"

That caught her slightly off guard. Her mind sifted through all the times she had been blamed for things she couldn't explain; all the times she had been sent away because the family was afraid of her – afraid of the things that happened around her.

"Yes." It came out as a distracted whisper. "All the time."

He nodded sympathetically. "The students at my school – this happens to them as well. My school helps them control these happenings. Help them understand and have a place to belong."

Taren tried to comprehend, but her mind wouldn't quite accept it. "You mean they're – this is – normal?" She said it tentatively, almost not daring herself to hope.

He gave a gentle reassuring smile. "Yes. There are others in your same predicament. Many others."

"What causes all of this to happen?" _Why does it happen to me?_

"I do believe, if you read your acceptance letter, you would understand." He reached a hand into one of the many folds of his robes and extracted a thick, yellow envelope and gently set it on the arm of Taren's chair. The redhead carefully picked it up and read the address.

**Miss T. Potter  
The Floor in the back left corner of Dorm 7  
St. Josephine the Merciful's Orphanage  
London**

The lettering was in a deep emerald green.

"You know exactly where I sleep?" she whispered, alarmed. It was kind of creepy having someone know exactly where you spent the night.

Professor Dumbledore just smiled.

Taren gave up on getting an answer and looked back at the letter, slowly turning it over. A royal purple seal dominated the back, holding the envelope closed. It showed a lion, a badger, an eagle and a snake all intertwined around an elegantly sculpted_ H_.

"Is this your crest?"

He bowed his head is accent. "My school's crest, yes. The students are divided into four houses. Each animal represents a different house."

Taren nodded understanding and slowly broke the seal, tearing the _H_ in half. She pulled out a think letter written on the same kind of parchment as the envelope. Unfolding it, she read to herself:

Hogwarts School  
of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

Taren read through the letter twice, trying to fully comprehend. Witchcraft? Wizardry?

_Holy crap…_

She turned slowly towards the old man, her mouth hanging slightly open in disbelief. "What are you trying to say? That I'm a – I'm a – a _witch_?!" Disbelief was quickly being replaced with hysteria.

But Dumbledore didn't rise to the challenge. He gave a short sigh. "Yes" he stated simply.

It's hard to be hysterical when no body gives you a reason to be. "You're saying that everything that has happened to me – every person who disappeared, every exorcism I had to sit through, every exploding light bulb, glass, and window – was because of _magic_!?"

"Yes."

Taren gave up on freaking out. He was so simplistic, so matter-of-fact about it all that she couldn't really do much other than believe him.

She slumped back in her chair, letter dangling in her hand over the side. "Huh."

Professor Dumbledore watched her closely, as the idea finally connected and her mind accepted. He felt sympathy for the girl, having this thrust upon her after such a long and painful life, but she seemed to be excepting it easily enough.

When the U.S. ambassador of the Ministry of Magic had sent him a newspaper article about a mysterious explosion in a church run orphanage, it had only perked his interest a little. Even the name Taren Potter hadn't meant much to him. But then, the U.S. ambassador sent him more articles, stretching back almost thirteen years, spanning all across the country, and something finally clicked. Nearly every article had Taren Potter as a key witness, suspect or simply as an interviewee.

He began to research this Taren Potter, trying to figure out who she was. Dumbledore finally tracked down her files at that same orphanage. What he discovered utterly amazed him.

She had survived?

Immediately, he began contacting The Salem Witches' Institute, trying to get her magical education started before it was too late. But when a representative went to Seattle to speak with her, Sister Kathryn said she had been transferred to the London branch the day before, and that she could be found there until next week, when Taren would have to leave again.

In this aspect, Dumbledore had been incredibly lucky. Sister Margaret, who ran Taren's new orphanage, was the middleman (or rather middle-woman) between London's magically enabled orphans and Hogwarts. She was also a Squib.

And finally, here she sat before him. He hadn't really been sure what to expect, but wasn't all that surprised when he saw her. She looked just like her mother: tall, but not lanky, with red hair. Except for the eyes, which were just like her fathers: almond shaped and stormy grey.

Only one thing intrigued him. She had no scar. No delicate lightening bolt to show her triumph over evil. Was she not attacked? And if so, what did that mean? Obviously Voldemort did not know of her existence now, or he would have been after her as well, but did he know of her then?

There was so much speculation. Most would probably never be known. The only thing that was for certain was that he had finally found her, and that Taren now sat in front of him after being lost for fourteen years. She was finally where she should be.

_Oh well, _he thought. _Maybe it's for the better that she has no scar. It will be easier to protect her this way, and she isn't in near as much danger…_

Taren broke through his reverie. "So – I'm a witch." She said it more to herself, as if saying it would prove it, than to Dumbledore.

"Yes," he replied patiently. "Hogwarts is a school of magic. We can teach you how to control it, and how to use it. There are quite a few handy tricks you can learn." He said this with a twinkle in his eye and a smile playing across his lips.

She looked down at the letter, slowly reading it again, and glancing at the second sheet of paper that came in the envelope. It was a list of school supplies.

As she scanned the list, her hope slowly plummeted to the bottom of her stomach to sit like a rock. It was a long list. "I can't afford this," she stated matter-of-factly, pushing the letter away from her. She had survived on hand-me-downs in foster homes and whatever people were generous enough to donate to St. Josephine's. Thank the gods that public school was free in the US.

Again Dumbledore gave a small secretive smile. "We will be able to provide you with sufficient funds for your supplies."

"Like in scholarships or something?"

His smirk turned into a full grin. "Or something."

-------------------------------------------------: )

Okay, there ya go. I swear I'm going to try to get the next one out a little faster, but don't hold me to it. I'll try to listen to the WICKED soundtrack more. It gets my creative juices flowing.

**molly: **Thank you!! Internet hugs for you!! And as for her year, you're gonna have to wait and find out: )

**budgiebird12: **oh, I'm sorry, you can have two hugs! And there is no such thing as a stupid question!! (Well actually there is, but this isn't one of them) A prior is a monk that runs the monestary. He's not a bishop or anything like that, he's still technically on the same level as all the other monks, but he's in charge of keeping the monestary, and in some cases the cathedral, in working order. If you read The Pillars of the Earth, Philip is a prior.

**Storms in Heaven: **Sorry! But I had to get this out or I would scream. I'll talk to you on monday.


	7. Secrets, Safehouses and Severe Headaches

Hehe, so um, yah... Sorry? I realized that it has been almost eight months since I last posted. Aparently WICKED didn't help. But I blame myself entirely for taking disgustingly hard classes, actually doing the homework in said classes, becoming far too involved in drama for my own good and trying to hold down a job, all at the same time. If it's any concilation, I quit Safeway. Then I graduated and summer started and while, yes, I suddenly had a ton of free time, I used to to catch up on much needed sleep. (You try surviving on 4 hours a night for 9 months while hating energy drinks and coffee!) And my muse aparently died from the stress. But now she's been resuscitated and is doing okay.

**Disclaimer: **As usual, I own Taren, St. Jo's and Sam. All else in the Potterverse is Rowlings and The Seattle Art Museum is obviously own by The Seattle Art Museum. Also, all bands mentioned are real and owned by their respective labels.

Chapter 7: Secrets, Safehouses and Severe Headaches 

Professor Dumbledore held the door for Taren as she stepped into the hall. "I shall go find Sister Margaret and tell her the news. You should go collect your things and meet me in the front hall."

Taren nodded absently. "O-Okay." This was all going so fast. In the space of a week she had been forced to leave not only her city, but her country as well. She had discovered her past, found her parents, was sent to live in the scariest orphanage imaginable, and told she was a witch. Her mind felt like it was moving through peanut butter, trying to organize all her thoughts.

_I'm a witch. _I'm _a witch. I'm a _witch…

Taren absently dragged her finger along the groves between the bricks lining the corridor as she walked back to her dorm. The only sounds she could hear were her own footsteps and a distant rumbling from the cafeteria. It was a hollow silence that she barely noticed.

Taren didn't have much to pack. Nothing had ever been unpacked - at least, not by her hands. Taren had used her bag as a pillow since she got here, but it hadn't take long for said pillow to begin shrinking. So before she went to the front hall, she took everything out of her bags, searching, making sure everything she came with was still there. As she assumed, many items were missing. Almost half her CD collection was gone. It had taken years of saving to amass the collection she now owned and she was _very _protective of it. She didn't care so much about the CAKE disc missing (that had been an egregious mistake, that purchase had been), but heads would roll if Juanes and Lifehouse did not reappear before she left.

Sam's locket was gone as well, and that angered her more than anything else. It had been one of the last things they had done together, going to the Seattle Art Museum, and making these lockets. It had been an interactive show, one of the most anticipated shows since the museums opening, viewing famous jewelry through the ages, and then creating your own at the end. The girls had saved up their money for months to afford the entrance fee, and once they got there, they had had a field day. A respectful and reserved field day that was proper for a museum setting, but a field day nonetheless. They had each made their own lockets, but when Taren discovered she was leaving, Sam and she had traded, turning the necklaces into mementos and promises to stay in touch. _I should call her one of these days… _

Taren stopped what she was doing and tried to stay calm, to squelch the emotions welling up. A freak out was really not what she needed right now. Breathe in. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. _Breathe out. _One, two, three, four…_ Regulated breathing was one of the many tools her shrink had taught her. It usually worked. But this time, Taren couldn't seem to clear her mind. The chatter from the cafeteria wouldn't seem to go away.

_I bet their in there right now, laughing at all the shit they've put me through… bragging about all the shit they _took_ from me… _

The emotions began swirling inside her. They wouldn't go away. Hurt, anger, disappointment, betrayal – all clouded her mind until nothing else could get in and her breathe was harsh and ragged.

_I just want my _fucking_ stuff back!_

Suddenly, she heard a _whoosh_ and clattering, as if she was being showered with objects. The interruption immediately knocked her out of her mental prison and she shot up, stumbling.

Only to be whacked in the forehead by something very pointy and very _hard_.  
"AAGH!" Gripping her now pounding head and moaning in pain, she looked around to find a dozen CDs littering the floor around her in different states of disrepair. Confused, she reached out to inspect the closest one. The case was cracked, but it was indisputably the Lifehouse CD she had just seconds before been missing.

Her throbbing head forgotten, a mixture of confusion and wonder filled her grey eyes as she collected the CD's that moments ago she had expected never to see again. She even found Sam's locket trapped between Vivaldi's Sonatas and Sugarland.

Ten minutes later Professor Dumbledore wandered in to find Taren just finishing her packing.

"Have you collected your things?" He asked kindly.

"Yes, just finishing!" She quickly threw her bag over her shoulder and stood, following him to the door. She didn't look back.

At least, not until she remembered the flying CDs and a thought struck her.

Glancing behind her, she tried to sound casual. "So, Professor Dumbledore, back there, in the dorm…my stuff…well, nearly half of it was missing, and I started just, like, wishing it was back and getting really…well, pissed about it and then it all just…came to me." It was a lame finish, but she had to stop rambling somehow.

Dumbledore glanced at her, his blues unreadable.

"It all – it all _flew_ at me…" Taren said. The sore spot on the side of her head throbbed. She chuckled without humor. "Heck, one of them beamed me in the side of the head…Anyway, I just – well, was that – my magic?"

Dumbledore nodded his face unreadable. "Yes, that was magic. I believe it was the essence of the 'Accio' charm, or summoning charm. You will learn to do that with a wand and be able to control when it happens and what you summon." _How has she survived this long? It's amazing she hasn't killed herself, _the man wondered gravely to himself. _It has been left to fester for so long… _

But Dumbledore dismissed that idea for a later date. She wasn't dead yet, so something was going right. There were more pressing matters to attend to –

"What do you mean 'wand'?" Dumbledore glanced down to see Taren stare curiously up at him.

"Oh…" he dug through one of his pockets before pulling out a long, slim slick of wood.

Taren's eyes grew huge and a surge of fear froze her to the spot.

_A lone figure stepped from behind one of the many archways, cloaked in all black, its face hidden in shadows. The figure slowly glided toward her, its arm purposefully rising to point a long, slender stick ominously at her… _

She began shaking uncontrollably; willing her feet to walk, run, hell, even skip if they had to, away from this place, this man, and that _thing._

"Y-you…that…what is…you-you tried…that _thing…_" The words didn't seem to want to form in her mouth. She wasn't entirely sure what she even wanted to ask.

Professor Dumbledore glanced at her but did a double take when he realized she was no longer beside him, but stopped a few paces back. She was terrified, her face white and shaking. Her grey eyes were fixated on something and when he followed her gaze, he was disturbed to see her staring avidly at his wand.

"Ms. Potter, what is the matter?"

"That-that-that stick. Where did you get it?" her voice was shaky and barely audible.

"My wand?"

"Yes. What is it? Why do you have it?"

"It's a tool use for magic. One of the more important ones as a matter of fact. Every wizard has one. Why?" Worry was beginning to cloud his voice. "Have you seen one before?" It came out as more of a demand for an answer than anything else.

His question seemed to bring her out of her trance. She blinked a few times and looked up at him. "Uh, yah. I saw it in a night – um, a dream I have – well, used to have. It's nothing, I just – it's nothing."

Dumbledore eyed her for a moment before speaking gently to her. "You must remember Taren, that magic is not evil, at least, not inherently so. It is the evil intent behind it that makes it seem evil."

She nodded, but still looked flustered. Color slowly began returning to her face. She caught up with him, but still sent nervous glances at his wand. For the sake of her sanity, he slipped it back into his pocket.

Dumbledore gave a gentle smile. "Come." He beckoned to her and changed the subject as they continued to walk. "There is a car waiting for us outside. We will not be going to the school immediately as the term does not start until September, but there is a safe-house where you can stay in London. There will be plenty of other people there, some even your age..."

She tuned out his voice._ What does he mean by safe-house? What do we need to be safe from? _She immediately heard an answer.

"…a long and complicated history, so I can't tell you everything you will want to know immediately, but you must know that the wizarding world is on the brink of war at the moment. And with your…precarious position and…well – personage, it is for the best that you stay at the Black House."

"Um, okay." Taren wasn't sure what else to say.

"He's your, well…it will all be explained in due course."

Again, she didn't know what to say in the face of his obscure manner. It was getting rather annoying, never being told the complete truth. _Why the crap is he so goddamned secretive?! What else isn't the old man telling me?_

X_-------------------------------------_X_  
_

Forty-five minutes and one _very_ bumpy car ride later, Taren found herself standing in a street that made St. Josephine's in London look like it was run by a group of OCD housewives. It had been sparkling clean compared to the sidewalk she now stood on. The early morning sunlight exposed a street where everything had at least a thin layer of grim covering it. Every house had piles of trash and other unknown waste products littering their yards. Everywhere she looked paint was pealing, mold was growing and fences were rusting. A boom box was going with its bass turned up in the house the pair currently stood before.

"Are you sure this place is safe?" Taren was having a hard time believing this was where she would be in the least amount of danger. She may have had a hard childhood and seen some horrible things, but she still knew there were some places were no amount of experience could help you. She would be eaten alive, if not raped and murdered just walking down the sidewalk here.

But Professor Dumbledore didn't seem to notice any of this. He simply stood in the late morning sunlight and rummaged through his robes, apparently looking for something. Taren was struck by exactly how out of place this man was. And not just here, but the world in general. It seemed to fit him fine and he wasn't bothered in the least bit.

"Ah ha, here it is…now why would it be in there? ...Oh, never mind." he came out of his pocket with a small slip of paper, crumpled and worn from constant use. "What I'm about to show you needs to be read and memorized. Then once you do, you must think about it. Do you understand?

"Um, okay?" _Well at least this isn't _weird_ or anything…_

Dumbledore unfolded the slip and held it for her to read. The hand writing was narrow and neat. It read:

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

_Number 12?..._ Taren looked up at number 11 in front of her with 10 to the left, but to the right was number 13. "Professor, are you sure –"

"Think about what you read."

Creasing her brow, Taren looked back down at the spotted slip of paper and thought it again. _The head quarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at – _

Suddenly houses 11 and 13 began to drift away from each other, letting another house seemingly grow in between. Taren stared, wide eyes and slightly scared. Her fight or flight reflexes were screaming at her to do something, but she forced herself to stay rooted to the spot. _Holy mother – _

And then it stopped. The boom box in number 11 still blared on as it had before, as if nothing had suddenly just shoved it violently to the side. Number 13 was still as empty and silent as ever. It was as if number 12 Grimmauld Place had always been there.

Dumbledore gently pushed her up the walk and towards the battered door. Number 12 looked just as decrepit as the rest of the street with its pealing paint and rusting metal work. There was a scratched up door knocker at eye level in the shape of an ominous, twisted serpent. Taren could have sworn it was watching her.

_Safe house, my ass… _

Pulling out his wand once more (Taren tensed beside him, but stayed quiet), he discreetly tapped to door with the end of it. Grinding and metallic clicks could be heard from behind and slowly it swung open, just wide enough for a person to squeeze through, creaking as it went.

Dumbledore leaned down and whispered to her. "Quickly. We must get inside."

Readjusting her bag on her shoulder, Taren slipped inside and was immediately assaulted by the old, musty smell of the pitch black room she entered.

She heard something scurry across the floor and brush against her feet.

Taren was beginning to seriously regret coming with this man.

-------------------------------------: )

Okay, so there ya go. Another installment. Slightly uneventful, but hey, I said my muse was resuscitated, not back up to snuff. She's still healing...

**MarisLily:** so yah, I'm gonna post now? Sorry this took so long and I've felt bad about it all year. But I'm massive glad you like my story. Internet hugs! And yes, Taren is his twin, so it take place during their fifth year.

**Allen Pitt: **Tehe...yah, the scar hiding was actually a totally spur of the moment thing. I didn't realized I like it until I had it in there. And I'm hoping you're pleasantly surprised by my housing choice. It will most definately be interesting...

**dans michigan girl:** I loved your review! It was so sweet. So I didn't exactly get out a speedy post, but better late than never? And the prayer touched me. Thank you very much. Like I said, I may not be religious, but I completely support others in their beliefs and am rather envious of their faith at times. I wish I had something to believe in that strongly. Feel free to share my story with any and all. I'm always happy to spread the joy and help when I can. I hope you like this installment!

**budgiebird12:** So I think I may have felt some of the inumerable threats...and feel immeasurably guilty about giving you a reason to create said threats. (crumbles to ground, begging for mercy) But it makes me feel all fuzzy inside to hear you like my style! And I'm glad to hear some feed back about her reaction. That unvailing was rather hard to get out, so it's nice to hear that it came out well. Thank you! I hope you are not forced to send any curses my way in the future, but me being the realistic person I am, you should probably keep some on stand by.

**Storms in Heaven:** Hola, darling! So not sure why I'm talking to you this way as there are many faster means of communication I can use but I'm gonna ignore that and just keep writing. Do my updating skills amaze you now? Cuz I'm thinkin' they aren't so hot. And we'll just have to see about the scar. You'll hear about it first! And despite the fact that two hell weeks have come and gone since you asked, I'm gonna answer anyway: yes, Crueger gets worse as the week goes on and thinks keep falling apart. Thankfully for me, and unfortunatly for them, the Techies feel the brunt of his temper. But, like the weather, hell week has gotten much more mild over the years. Freshman year we were there from right after school until almost 10 some nights with only half hour dinner breaks. But now I'm just like "meh, ignore him." I think his wife helps keep him calm. We need to get together!


	8. No Seriously, You Need To Whisper

**A/N: **Whoo! It's only been two months since my last update. I don't know about you but I'm rather proud of myself. So here it is. The eighth installment! My muse is alive and kickin' beotches!! (Her name is Mackenzie. She has wings. : D) And I'm FINALLY leaving for college in two days. Only three classes! And my earliest class starts at 9:30 AM and that's only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Is that exciting, or is that exciting!? So wish me luck and I'll try to keep writing during school.

And something I wanted to mention: I've been rereading the fifth book (research!) and realized that they do actually mention what James' eye color is. Hazel. And I know a few people have mentioned Taren's eyes and asked why grey, but I just chose a color I liked and went with it. So I'm not sure if I'm gonna go back and change them to fit. I may be lazy and just keep them the way they are. Tell me what you think!

**Disclaimer:** so I say this every chapter and nothing changes. I still don't own Harry (damn!), Hogwarts (double damn!) or any characters you recognize (nooooo!!!!!)

Oh, and I figured I should mention the fact that when Taren's mad, she steals the vernacular of a sailor. If you don't like profanity, sorry. It isn't that bad I guess, just thought I would warn you.

Chapter 8: No Seriously, You Need To Whisper

Taren walked a little further into the house, giving Professor Dumbledore room to slip in as well. Except for the sliver of sunlight coming from the doorway, the room was a black abyss. Even the light wouldn't come in very far. The dusty air only let it illuminate a few feet of dark flooring before it faded away.

Starring at the strip of light (the only thing she could see), Taren watched as the Professor's shadow blotted most of it out then as it completely disappeared and the door closed on its own accord with a muffled _thud._ She could here the bolts grinding back into place while Dumbledore searched through his many pockets.

"Let me bring some light to the situation…" her traveling companion whispered in his gentle accent, before ancient gas lamps sputtered to life, exposing a long hallway stretched out in front of her. The gas lamps gave the room a flickering, eerie atmosphere, but even if the hall had been lit by 100 watt light bulbs it would have been unnerving.

Taren was surrounded by peeling wallpaper, threadbare carpets and cobwebs. Lots and lots of cobwebs. Portraits lined the walls on both sides of the hall, hanging in crooked and rusting frames. The way the flames flickered across them, Taren could swear they were moving, watching the two intruders, whispering to each other. Not too far down the hall, she could see a musty curtain drawn, but she couldn't tell if it was hiding a door or a window. The entire place exuded evil.

"What is this—"

"Whisper in the hallway." Dumbledore muttered quietly, cutting Taren off. "You must make as little noise as possible."

"Why?"

A twinkle appeared in his eye. "We wouldn't want to wake anything, now would we?" Placing a hand on her back, he guided her down the hall. Taren's brow crinkled in confusion, but before she could ask what he meant, she was interrupted by a short, plump, red hair woman coming out of a door at the far end of the hall. Her apron was covered in stains and burn marks and the dress underneath looked like it had been worn far more times than it should have been, but her face was kind and motherly, giving her a youthful look despite the lines around her eyes and mouth. Upon seeing the pair, she came to an abrupt halt and her eyes grew wide.

"Albus?" she whispered with both surprise and relief evident in her voice. Her hand flew to her heart as a warm smile spread across her round and caring face, "Oh, Albus we were so _worried!_ When you didn't come to Tuesday's meeting, we didn't know what to think!"

"I sincerely apologize Molly," he comforted just as quietly. "But I received some urgent news and it was imperative that I look into the matter as soon as possible. I didn't want to cause a stir if, in fact, it turned out to be nothing." With this, he laid a hand on Taren's shoulder, drawing the woman's attention to the girl.

She glanced at Taren once, twice, three times – and her face went white. Taren looked on, slightly alarmed, as Molly clutched her heart and gave a terrified gasp.

"_Lily?"_ Her voice was shaky, like she was seeing a ghost, not daring herself to believe it was true. She looked like she wanted to bolt.

"Molly, this is Taren Potter. She'll be staying here for the summer then attending Hogwarts in September."

Molly's brow nit in confusion, then realization came and disbelief washed over her face. "Potter…This is—? Oh my…she lived?"

Now it was Taren's turn to be confused, not for the first time today. What did Molly mean 'she lived'? And who was Lily, other than her mother, but…unless…but this woman couldn't have known her…her parents weren't into this stuff…were they?

"What—"

Taren's question died in her mouth as Dumbledore gave her the smallest shake of his head, warning her not to say anything. His next words were directed at Molly. "Yes, but there is still much to be explained. By everyone and _to everyone_."

Molly quickly shook away her shock and regained composure. It was as if Taren had never even tried to speak. "Of course, of course, silly of me to think…" she paused and changed the subject. "Dear me, where are my manners! I'm Molly Weasley dear—"

_CRACK!_

Two boys suddenly appeared inches from Taren, causing her to scream. Molly wasn't pleased either.

"_Fred and George Weasley!__ I _ordered_ you not to __apparate__—"_

"Molly please you must be quiet—"

"_GET OUT OF MY HOUSE YOU WORTHLESS PIGS—"_

"Oh, not _again_! Sirius, get in here!"

Taren's eyes widened in surprise at the chaos that was suddenly reigning in the hallway. She gasped and pressed herself against the wall, trying to stay out of the way of the dozen people that were suddenly pouring into the space around her. Taren couldn't tell where all the voices were coming from.

"What the blast was that—"

"—intruders! Block the exits—"

"—_another_ red head?!—"

"—_SONS OF FILTH, SCOUNDRELS, TRATOROUS SCUM—"_

"—apparating every three feet! Your brothers never put me through—"

"—Dumbledore! You're back!—"

"—_HALF-BREED HARLOTS, THE __LOT__ OF YOU—"_

"—Please! Everyone, just calm down—"

"—Mrs. Black, _shut up!_ Will someone _please_ close that curtain—"

Amidst the noise, Taren tried to find her bearings, but the more she looked around the faster they seemed to slip away. To her left she caught a glimpse of a woman with fire-engine red hair, and watched as her nose grew twice its normal size and her eyes became those of a hawk. A man had the most disfigured face she had ever laid eyes on: a huge chuck was missing from his nose, one eye was small and beady, the other one huge and spinning so fast in it's socket, she started to feel queasy just watching it. He was waving what looked like a wand about his head crazily. On the stairs, Taren spied an older woman just in time to see her shrink down into a cat. It didn't help that now the portraits really were watching them, yelling and moving about like everyone else.

Something orange came shooting out of the disfigured mans wand, putting a hole in the wall inches from Taren's head. She decided it would be in her own best interest to leave _quickly_.

Then, while sliding across the wall and towards the door, Taren saw it. Or rather, Taren saw _her_.

The musty curtains she had noticed earlier did not in fact conceal a door. Instead, she looked on as three men tried to pull the curtain back in place over a life-size portrait of the most terrifying woman Taren had ever set eyes on, which was currently screeching profanities at the top of her lungs.

The woman, who Taren could only assume was the _thing_ they were trying not to wake, had yellowing skin, already stretched taut over hollow cheeks, but stretched even more as she wailed. Drool was dripping from the corners of her mouth and her eyes were bloodshot and rolling back into her head. Long-nailed, gaunt hands tried to scratch their way out of the canvas, making the woman look like a screeching, rabid animal.

Now, under different circumstances, Taren might not have been as shocked and terrified as she was. Even if she had had a bit of warning she could have probably handled it. But the combination of the morning she had had, the chaos currently reigning, and her surprise at seeing multiple screaming paintings, one of which was the most horrifying portrait ever painted…well, this was the last straw.

So, shaking, she did the only this a sane teenage girl in her position would do.

She screamed bloody murder and ran for the door.

The front door burst open on its own accord, letting Taren vault out of the house, forgetting her bags where she had dropped them.

"Taren! Where are you—"

"Do _not_ use you're wand on her Alastor!"

"No! Girl, come back!"

But she didn't heed any of their pleadings. Taren was out of the derelict yard and running down the street before anyone else could even get out the door. Taren would have made it away too, if one of the red headed boys hadn't appeared right in front of her again with another loud _crack!_ and caught her. Before she could dodge him, they collided and both went sprawling to the ground.

"Taren, please!" she heard Dumbledore's voice yell. "For your own safety you really should—"

"Fuck my safety!" she screamed back, untangling herself from the boy and struggling to her feet. She tried to run past him, but he kept a strong grip on her arm. "Let go of me!" she snarled at him.

"No," was the strangled, but defiant response.

"I know this is overwhelming—" Dumbledore was getting closer.

"Over_whelming!?"_ she cried over her shoulder in disbelief. Forgetting to struggle, she rounded on Dumbledore who was striding towards where she stood in the middle of the street. "I just watched a house _grow_ out of an alleyway! Two boys just popped out of fucking _no where. _A painting was _screaming_ at me. A _painting_! You're damn right I'm overwhelmed! I think I have a right to be too! And damnit boy, _let go of me!_"

Suddenly the sound of shattered glass echoed through the street. Just as had happened in Sister Kathryn's office, everyone but Taren flinched and covered themselves as every lamp on the street burst, showering everything with bits of glass.

Taren should have taken this as a sign, but all it did was make the girl even more frustrated. "See! Look at what you made me do!" Her free arm was waving wildly, taking in the now glittering surroundings. "Before I was shipped here I was doing fine! I could control myself and keep shit like this from happening!" She didn't notice the startled looks everyone was giving her.

"I know this is all very new to you," Dumbledore tried to reason with her. His voice was calm, trying to get her to be calm as well. "But you must trust me that this is the safest place for you."

But Taren was in no mood to be calm. "Not from where I'm standing it's not!" she yelled, still gesturing wildly. "Foster homes, stalkers and chicks with anger management issues, those I can handle. Have been for _years_! But disappearing acts and screeching paintings and mag—"

"_Stupify__!"_

Taren saw a flash of red light and everything went black.

George Weasley caught the girl before she hit the ground, propping her up until his twin brother, Fred, came over to help him carry her. They quickly took her inside – the muggle way – before their mother could start yelling at them the way she currently was at Moody.

"Alastor! How could you stun the poor girl!?"

"She was a security risk." he said back gruffly but also like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"She was a _security risk!?_ You stunned her in the middle of the street in broad daylight! A _muggle_ street at that! What if someone had seen!?"

"No one was watching." His magical eye spun in its socket, pausing at every window and doorway. "No one's watching now either. _Reparo__."_ He waved his wand and the glass shards flew back to their light fixtures before he turned and began limping back into the house. The other dozen or so people followed.

"_Alastor__ Moody—"_

"Molly, please! Continue this later. Right now I want a few answered from Dumbledore," Sirius cut in. He was a dark, shaggy haired man, and his eyes were trained on the old professor, not angrily, but there was definitely irritation and intensity behind the dark gaze. "I would like to know for instance, why a teenage girl with a _striking _resemblance to Lily Potter has suddenly popped out of the woodwork, particularly one with an _American __accent?_"

Dumbledore sighed as the door locked behind him once again. "It would seem that both your godchildren survived his attack." A few surprised gasps came from around the room. "Though how she arrived in the United States, I haven't the faintest."

* * *

Yay! Let me just say that the more I write this story, the more I love it and the more I love it, the more I want to write it. Tis my brain child! Tell me what you think! 

**Storms in Heaven**: Gah! I miss you! OMG I NEED YOUR NUMBER!! I want to talk to my friend when she's all the way in Pullman! I'll get it from your brother if I have too! And yah, I like Sirius too...though the twins will always hold a special place in my heart, right in between Juanes, falafels and glitter. Mackenzie loved the get-well-soon card. She taped it by her bed. : )

**Allen Pitt:** Agh! So many questions!! I love it! I don't want to ruin the surprise so I can't say much. Though I will admit that I haven't decided how she will react the seeing Gringotts. Much to ponder...and all I'll say is that she'll be getting tutors and of course there shall be twists! I'm actually quite excited to write about it!

**MarisLily:** Yah, like I said, the more I write the more I love it and the more I love it the more I want to write it. I can't wait for the siblings to finally meet! And yah, I plan on writing stories for 5, 6 and 7. Though I haven't read the seventh book yet (I'm a horrible fan!) so I don't know what will happen. And teh chanting helped a lot. She's had a miraculous, full recovery! Thanks a bunch! (She LOVES Peter Pan. Though she thinks tinkerbell is a bitch. Says she gives faeries a bad name. Mack's quite the snooty little muse, no?)


	9. Said Too Much, Said Not Enough

**A/N: **Hey. So...yah...it's been a while? I don't really have an excuse other than the fact that freshman year both did and didn't go as planned. Sorry. As much as I love writing this story, time and focus was something I didn't have. I just had ideas bouncing around my head for a year and a maddening inability to get them down on paper. Not pleasant, let me tell you. Ugh... /

**Disclaimer**: You know the drill. I own Taren and all that relates to St. Jo's. Nada mas. Claro? Bien.

Chapter 9: Said Too Much, Said Not Enough

It was already dark outside by the time Taren woke up. She could see the streetlamp shinning thinly through the curtain across the room from her. She couldn't hear anyone else in the room, but she didn't move, just to be safe. Taren had been in this kind situation enough times to know it's best to maintain the element of surprise. Keeps you're attackers on their toes.

Glancing around without lifting her head, she spotted an empty frame hanging a few feet away, and the entire day came flooding back. She tensed.

Okay, so maybe she hadn't been in _quite_ this same situation before.

Taking a chance she rose up slowly, prepared to run at any moment. But like she'd thought, the room was empty and she relaxed a little, taking the opportunity to observe her surroundings.

The last things she remembered was hyperventilating in the middle of a brightly lit street, but she now found herself in a dark, dank bedroom, on the second of third level from the looks of it. She was above the streetlamps at least, that was for certain. This room looked to have been cleaned; there were no cobwebs in the corners, but it was still just as shabby as the front hall had been. There was only a single flickering gas lamp set on a desk, but she could see the wall paper was in a sad state and all the furniture had a distinct droop to the corners. A scratched mirror was leaning against the wall opposite the door, a corner broken off. There were two other beds in the room pushed against the opposite wall from Taren. Both were made and both had a trunk at the foot. Taren noticed her own bags piled at the end of her own bed.

"Oh good, you're awake!"

Taren gasped and flung herself over her bed, putting it between herself and the voice. Taren's eyes scanned the room, looking for an intruder.

"Everyone will be relieved to know you're awake. They were afraid Moody's spell may have been a bit too powerful."

Taren's eyes widened as she stared at yet another talking painting.

The previously vacant frame now held a rather pretty woman, who was smiling down at the girl with warm, brown eyes. Her hair was a few shades lighter than her eyes, and the curls shown brightly around her face. She had the kind of face Taren thought would only become more beautiful with age – she looked to be in her late forties. It's hard not to trust a face like that.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, as if she had just noticed Taren's hiding place. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Taren eased a little under the woman's friendly words, but she didn't move from her side of the bed. "Who are you?" she asked warily.

"My name is Andromeda Tonks, though I'd prefer you call me Andie. You're less likely to get tongue-tied that way," she added, giving a warm smile at her own joke that exposed the laugh lines around her eyes.

"Hi, Andie." Said Taren, not quite believing she was making friend with a woman made of canvas and brushstrokes. But she loosed up a bit nonetheless, slowly walking around the bed, taking a closer look at Andie's portrait. "How are you possible?" she whispered in awe.

The older woman laughed. "Magic! There are spells and potions to make a painting talked and think for itself. The same goes for photographs. Though they can't talk or move frame-to-frame like a painting can. But it's all because of magic, all part of being a witch."

"So all pictures can do this?"

"In the wizarding world, yes," was the patient reply.

"And I'm the only one to find this strange?"

Again, Andie laughed. "In this house, yes, but you're also the only one here who hasn't spent years around magic. In general though, it's not strange. My husband's a muggle and he's never really gotten used to it. He still twitches every time an owl flies into the kitchen." Andie smile fondly at the memory.

Taren's brow creased in confusion. "He's a what?"

"A muggle. A non-wizarding person."

"Oh," was all Taren could think to say.

The pair lapsed into silence for a moment. The more they talked, the more Taren forgot that Andie wasn't a person. Or was she? From the sounds of it, there was a living Andromeda Tonks wandering around out there, so she wasn't a soul, right? A chunk of her soul maybe? That was a rather disturbing theory, so Taren dropped that train of thought.

"You know," Andie started, breaking through Taren's morbid notion. There was a timid look in the woman's eyes as she spoke, like she wasn't sure if she should be talking. "I overheard the Order talking downstairs a few moments ago…is it true? Are you James and Lily's daughter?"

Taren narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "If you're talking about James and Lily Potter, then yes, that's what my birth certificate says. Why?" How did these people know her parents? What were they up to?

But Andie didn't seem to notice Taren's misgivings. A look of shock and awe crossed the portraits face. "But you…you _died,_" she said in disbelief.

Taren raised an eyebrow in surprise. _Well that wasn't the answer I was expecting._

"Um…no – I'm pretty sure I'm still alive."

"But you did! You died! With your parents! I went to you're funeral!" Andie's voice was excited, her arms flailing around her frame in amazement. "I mean, they never found you're body—"

"Obviously."

"—but Harry was the only one who survived the attack—"

"Who? Wait, what?" Taren sat up straight on the bed, confused and startled by the sudden twist of the conversation. "What attack? Who's Harry?"

Andie realized what she let slip a moment too late and suddenly looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck. "Oh dear, I said too much didn't I? I shouldn't have told you any of that…" she seemed to shrink back into her frame.

"What? No! You mentioned it first, so tell me! Who's Harry? What attack are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't be the one to tell you! I'm sorry…" Andromeda slipped sideways and disappeared behind the frame.

"No! Andie, I need answers! Come back!" Taren ran to the wall. "Where did you go?!" She tried to lift the frame but it wouldn't budge.

"I'm sorry!" came the muffled, disembodied answer. "But I can't be the one to tell you. Go ask my cousin! Talk to the people downstairs!"

"You're cousin? Who's that? Andie? _Andie_!?" But she was gone. Taren gave a frustrated growl and flopping back down onto her bed.

_What the hell is going _on_!?_ Taren thought, dragging a hand through her hair in annoyance. _Who _are_ these people?!_

After brooding for ten minute, she got up and paced the room, glancing at the door every time she passed it. The frustration wasn't going away and it would only end badly if she didn't do something about it soon.

If Taren opened that door, she would have to make a choice. Either she could go down those stairs and out the front door, leave all this behind and go back to the life she knew, or she could go down those stairs, find the kitchen, and get some answers, accepting whatever it was that Professor Dumbledore had to offer.

She knew what lay outside that front door for her: absolutely nothing. She would be living on the streets, at least until she found a decent job and someplace to stay. She wouldn't be graduating high school; she would never be able to afford school in England, and St. Josephine's wasn't going to take her back anytime soon. Sister Margaret made that perfectly clear. There was no way to get back to Seattle without somehow raising at least several hundred dollars, if not more.

And in the kitchen? What did that place hold for her? _God only knows. _She though, _but it's better than nothing. I would have a place to stay, a school to go to, a potential future…_

But in the back of her mind, a little cynical voice was whispering as well. _They've also got magic, talking paintings, disappearing people, and oh yah _magic_…The man in your nightmares had magic…and you know how _those_ end…_

_Shut up! _Taren snapped back at herself. _The Professor said magic is not evil! It's the person using it that is evil. _

_But should you _really_ trust what that old man has to say? You don't even know him—I mean, look where he brought you…_

_I _have _to trust him!_ By now Taren had stopped passing and was frozen in the middle of her room, deep in her internal conversation.

Taren blinked, realizing what she'd said. It was true. She didn't really have any other choice than to trust him. This was her chance out of the world she had lived in for far too long. This was her one chance to change and start over fresh. Professor Dumbledore was offering Taren the only chance she may ever get at bettering herself and living a life where she wasn't some freakish oddity. It was the only logical choice.

_The worse that could happen is that I go to this school of his, find out they're a bunch of nut jobs and I leave, _Taren reassured herself. _I can always just leave. _

"I do trust him," Taren said aloud and with conviction, as if to prove it was true. "I have to."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," came a greasy voice from the mirror.

That more than anything was what propelled Taren across the room and to open the door. She was over the threshold before she could talk herself out of it.

* * *

Reviews:

Storms in Heaven: Hey Darling! So...I know, I know, I suck at life and the whole, "maintaining a social life when I don't see someone everyday". I have missed you though. I just read Tamora Peirce's new-ish book, 'Terrier', and it made me think of you. (It's George!! Well, kind of.) So of course I'm now rereading all of her books and reminiscing on all the times we were reading rather than paying attention in class. Remember wood shop? :) Anyway, hope your summer's been good! Love you!

Secret World: Thank you! :) Sorry this was so late in coming. I hope you enjoyed this installment though.

Allen Pitt: haha, as usual, so many ideas! After reading the 7th, I did realize Snape is going to be an interesting challenge. You'll just have to wait the 6 billion years it's gonna take me to get there. /


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